


Knots

by pibroch (littleblackdog)



Series: Kirkwall Nights [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackdog/pseuds/pibroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian and Nathaniel explore their relationship.  With ribbon.</p><p>“You wish to be at my mercy, my lady?  Do you imagine I would be a merciful man?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knots

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh, I wrote this ages ago for the DA kink meme, and forgot to post it here. Apologies. There's some kinky sex in here, though, so that has to count for something, even if it is late.
> 
> Slight warning that our couple doesn't discuss or choose a safeword, which they should've done, but luckily enough things turn out okay regardless.

Nathaniel wasn’t entirely certain what to make of this motley group with whom his lady kept company, but it was not the first time he had seen such devotion to one incredibly remarkable person create strange associations. Now, sitting in a filthy tavern with Marian’s friends and comrades, Nathaniel was seeing it all over again.  
  
“—and I never laid eyes on her, the monkey, or a single copper of that coin again.” The Rivaini woman, Isabela, tossed back the last of her drink as she finished her… fascinating tale, banging the empty cup on the table with a dull _thunk_. They had been playing a few friendly games of Wicked Grace, but the intent of the evening was to socialise with these people, and Nathaniel was making an effort to be genial. It was something of a challenge when he could keenly feel several pairs of eyes weighing and measuring him to various degrees, but he could certainly appreciate that Marian was dear to them. It made the scrutiny only slightly easier to bear without bristling.  
  
Guard Captain Aveline, who Nathaniel was surprised hadn’t yet herded him outside for a serious interrogation, made a derisive sound, while the young Dalish woman giggled. The rest of the reactions varied between disbelieving, embarrassed, and amused, but it was the sound of Marian’s bright, sincere laugh that drew his attention irresistibly. She was seated so very close to him, chairs bumped up together, and curling his arm around her lower back didn’t seem terribly inappropriate after two mugs of whatever swill they passed off as ale in this city.  
  
Marian turned her head towards him, smiling warmly, and leaned over to rest against his side. It was a familiar, affectionate pose, but any niggling concerns he might have about impropriety could go hang— this was not polite company, clearly, though it wasn’t unpleasant either.  
  
A vivid green gaze swung in his direction, and Merrill’s giggles intensified as she pointed. “Oh, look! That’s just the sweetest thing—”  
  
Marian’s hand on his thigh stopped his retreat before it could begin. The touch was calming and enflaming in equal measure, and thank the Maker it was hidden under the table, but it did soothe some of the discomfort of being gawked at. The pointing and giggling was apparently just what the others had been waiting for to open the floodgates, and the pretence that this gathering was for any other purpose besides giving Nathanial a once-over was swiftly abandoned.  
  
“Just _darling_ ,” Isabela agreed, leaning forward with a dangerous little smirk. Her breasts were nearly spilling from her ridiculously scant tunic, and Nathaniel very purposefully kept his gaze locked on her face. This was nearly as awkward as the incident with Carver and the letters, but he refused to cede an inch of ground. “The dark and mysterious Grey Warden, all aflutter over our Hawke. Tell me, do—”  
  
“Isabela,” Marian cut in smoothly, her voice laced with humour as her hand squeezed gently just above his knee. “I’m not telling you a single thing, except that any _fluttering_ is entirely mutual. You and Varric can make up the rest.”  
  
Varric grinned, hoisting his pint. “Already started. I was getting worried the tale of the Champion wouldn’t have any steamy bits, and that would be just tragic.”  
  
Nathaniel couldn’t help but agree— not that he’d give voice to such a thought.

* * *

“So, tell me what you think.” The walk back to Hightown from the Hanged Man had been relatively quiet, except for the humming tension of questions unasked. He’d been very aware that Marian wanted to discuss the evening, but he hadn’t pressed, and she hadn’t brought it up until sometime after the bedroom door clicked closed behind them. “Did you like them?”  
  
Shrugging out of his cuirass and jerkin, Nathaniel chuckled softly at her bluntness. Marian stood behind him, having helped with his buckles, and now that he was down to his shirtsleeves, she wound her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his back.  
  
“They care for you a great deal,” he said, slipping his fingers under the cuff of her robe to stroke her wrist. She was kissing the back of his neck, nuzzling through his hair, but for the sake of discussion he managed not to groan. “That alone makes me like them. They… they’re diverse.”  
  
She laughed, warm breath against his nape, and tightened her embrace. “They’re insane, but I think they liked _you_ well enough. My dear, charming Warden.”  
  
He could not shake his disquiet about Anders— gaunt and so very serious, shuffling about like an eerie reflection of a familiar rotted husk rather than the man he’d known— but Marian had already aired her own concerns on the matter. She was worried for Anders, and rightly so, but Nathaniel knew little of magic and less of possession. He had tried to comfort her days before, when she’d first asked him about Anders and his… condition, and he’d plainly told her all he knew, even when the story of the massacre made her blanch. He felt painfully ineffective and frustrated, but _this_ was hardly the time to dwell on a problem he was so ill equipped to face.  
  
Instead, he turned in the circle of Marian’s arms, bringing his hands up to cradle her jaw and brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones. She leaned into his touch, her smile softening, and he felt his heart ping foolishly. His throat felt tight, and any words he might have spoken would have been embarrassingly gruff; he bent instead, feathering a brief, tender kiss against the corner of her mouth, and did not hide his own smile when she tilted her head to meet him.  
  
They both tasted of that terrible ale, sour and vinegary, but it was a minor nuisance. Marian’s hands were creeping up under his shirt, teasing the small of his back, and he set his own hands with the task of grazing softly down her neck and along her ribs, careful not to snag the silk of her robes on any of his rougher calluses. She was stretching up into the kiss, rubbing her yielding body against his as she nibbled at his lips, and Nathaniel swallowed her moan when he teased his thumbs along the bottom curves of her breasts, then cupped her firmly through layers of fabric.  
  
The robes survived in one piece, as did his shirt and leggings, though they were scattered in a rather haphazard path leading towards the bed. Winding his fingers through the ties of her smallclothes, then kneeling to slide the flimsy fabric down her legs proved to be a significant distraction, but a distraction of the very best sort.  
  
Her sex tasted much better than ale, dripping with juices that were darkly sweet and faintly salty, and Nathaniel explored leisurely as she gasped and arched back against the bedpost. Her knees were trembling, and he gripped her hip with one hand while the other guided her legs farther apart, thrusting his tongue to meet her shuddering jerks. Grinding his nose against her pearl earned him a long, breathless whine and fingernails digging sharply into his scalp, so he did it again, harder.  
  
Maker, this woman could undo him with a single glance, and yet she let herself be lost in the pleasure he brought her, babbling and begging for his touch. She was a blessing, for certain, though he still wondered what he had done to earn such a boon.

* * *

Nathaniel woke when Marian began to stir against him, but kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. It had been a very long time since he’d slept so entangled with another person, but over the past few nights he’d been slowly adjusting to the small movements and the feel of her breath against his neck. She was not a restless sleeper, which helped immensely, and he had never been quite as tormented by nightmares as many Wardens he knew. Considering the horrible terrors he’d seen the Commander endure during those nights camping around Amaranthine, Nathaniel counted himself lucky that he was able to suppress at least some of the sinister visions his blood called up.  
  
He was not entirely free of them, however. The second night he spent in Kirkwall, he’d bolted awake in the wee hours before dawn, confused by the smell of woman and the sinuous limbs wound loosely around his body. He had been caught in a dream of broodmothers— their gurgling, slithering bulk and the agony of vile, acidic mucus searing up his leg— and woke in a cold sweat with a vicious cramp biting into his calf. It had likely been half the curse of the taint, and half conjured by his mind, but regardless, it left him feeling sick.  
  
Marian had been startled to say the least, having been yanked so suddenly from sleep when he sat up with a pained gasp, but she had taken his shaky apology without complaint and without question. Nathaniel was hardly surprised that Anders would share Warden secrets, and knowledge of their nightmares was hardly a threat to the security of the Grey. He’d breathed deeply through his nose, trying to banish the memory of putrid stink, the complete antithesis of Marian’s comforting scent, and had very nearly flinched when she scooted up to sit beside him, her hands sliding soothingly over his shoulders and arms.  
  
She had massaged the knot of muscle that screamed in his calf, working out the tension with excruciating strokes of her thumbs, and even pressed soft kisses against the gruesome, mottled scar she found there. An ugly reminder of the Mother, though he hadn’t told Marian that, but he felt no shame under her care. Neither her eyes nor her fingers shied away from the grisly canvas his body had become over the years, and it was easy to pay her the same courtesy— he saw nothing but beauty and strength in the relatively few scars that marked her skin.  
  
The next night passed without incident, and then the one after, and now it was nearly a week since his arrival in the city. Nearly a week of drifting off to sleep with this wondrous woman tucked against his chest, sated and pleasantly sore from their lovemaking, and then waking each morning to find he had not dreamed it all…  
  
It was a struggle to keep such incredible good fortune from making him nervous.  
  
At the moment, Marian was doing a valiant job at trying to wriggle free from his embrace without disturbing his sleep, and Nathaniel carefully kept up the pretence. He had no desire for his instinctive vigilance— paranoia, possibly, but it kept him alive— to cause her any guilt, and she was trying so hard to be stealthy. It was rather adorable, actually, and he fought not to smile.  
  
The quilts shifted, letting the cooler air of the room invade the cocoon they’d made, but his lady did not climb out of bed as he’d expected. The mattress dipped as she moved, careful and slow, and then he felt a puff of moist breath against his cock, just before the first touch of her tongue. A strange, strangled whine bubbled up from his throat, entirely without his permission, when her hand wrapped around him. Holy Maker, somewhere between sleeping soundly at his side and sneaking down between his thighs, Marian had licked her palm— there was a slick grip pumping him to hardness, a sinfully hot mouth teasing around his tip, and Nathaniel scrambled for his wits. He clutched at the mattress, the sheet bunching under his fingers, when he felt Marian’s answering moan vibrate down his length.

She wasn’t making any attempt to take him fully into her mouth, though he knew from staggering experience that she could swallow him to the root if she was of a mind. Her tongue teased, her breath cooled the damp paths left behind, and as much as it was excruciatingly _not enough_ , it still ended far too soon. When that wicked mouth withdrew, leaving him rock hard and aching, Nathaniel sat up in utterly reckless frustration, reaching out to catch hold of one nefarious little temptress—  
  
But Marian was already moving, already coming to him, and the sudden press of heat and wet and _woman_ enfolding his cock was enough to steal his breath and bow his back. His hips snapped up to meet that perfection and Marian gasped, clutching at his shoulders and pressing her face against his ear.  
  
“Oh,” she panted, falling into a quick, jerking rhythm as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “Oh, yes Maker, _yes_ , please… _oh_ —” He was laving the crook of her neck, tasting her sweat and her skin, and every scrape of his teeth made her clench gloriously. Her movements evened out, every flex of her thighs and cant of her hips setting a steady, languorous pace, and Nathaniel let his hands explore the smooth planes of her back and the sweet curve of her rear.  
  
Now that the shock was giving way to a slowly building simmer of pleasure, the heat of it flaring with every slick thrust, he managed to find his voice. “Marian—” Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging and making him growl. “ _Marian_ , minx, what brought this on?”  
  
He felt her smile, nuzzling softly behind his ear. “I dreamt of you,” she whispered, then leaned back to meet his gaze with her cheeks flushed and her mouth parted so invitingly. The thought of such dreams made him groan roughly, gripping her hips to grind her down against him. “Your— ah, _Maker_ — your touch, your mouth—”  
  
Darting forward, he caught her in a hard kiss, then swallowed back a snarl when she pulled away, licking her reddened lips. “Your voice,” she continued, and the tremor in _her_ voice skated down his spine like the caress of her fingers. “And I woke up, so wet for you, with my hand between my legs—”  
  
She squealed when he flipped them over, fingers yanking sharply out of his hair before she clutched at his upper arms, but Nathaniel barely felt the sting. Braced up on his knees, he lifted her arse off the bed to meet the deep, brutal thrusts she’d drawn from him, goaded by the dark honey of her beautiful, wicked words.  
  
His Marian, wet and wanton for him, from thoughts of _him_ —  
  
The sound of his own blood in his ears and the slapping of flesh meeting flesh almost drown out the world, but Marian’s voice cut through it all with one breathy, keening word.  
  
“Yours!” It was only then that Nathaniel realised he’d been hissing between his teeth, a fierce mantra of _mine, mine, mine_. Marian’s eyes were glowing up at him like coals made of brilliant sapphire, hooded and scorching hot, and he could feel the first pulse of her orgasm sending bolts of lightning down to his toes. “Oh Maker, Nathaniel, _yours_ —”  
  
His own release hit him like a golem’s fist to the back of the head, hastened by the sight of Marian, his Marian, with her back arched and her breath coming in short, hiccupped gasps.

* * *

Whimpering softly as her muscles protested the move— any move at all— of Nathaniel rolling them over to lie together on their sides, Hawke kept one leg coiled over his hip and slowly caught her breath. She could feel him softening, still tucked inside her, and gathered up just enough strength to tighten around him one more time. Her nerves screamed at her, too sensitive by half, but her toes still curled in the mess of quilts tangled around their feet.  
  
He grunted, his whole body flinching even as his hips stuttered weakly. “Ah, you little wretch… stop that.”  
  
“That’s the voice,” she murmured, brushing her lips softly against his collarbone. “The dark, gruff voice, haunting my dreams.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Nathaniel rumbled after a moment of silence, one rough hand gliding up her back to twist gently in the ends of her hair. “If it was some other voice, I believe I’d be rather put out.”  
  
Their sweat was cooling, making her shiver, but she nearly cursed when Nathaniel reached down to gather up the blankets, his cock slipping free and leaving her empty. Her little noise of protest made him chuckle, and the minute the covers settled in place around them both, Hawke felt his hands roaming slowly, leaving gooseflesh in his wake as he gathered her into a loose embrace. A bit of squirming, and she ended up with her back snuggled against his chest, smiling as he pressed opened-mouth kisses against her shoulder. If exhaustion hadn’t snuck up behind her like an assassin, making her head muzzy with wool, she might have teased him a bit more, but she knew exactly where that would lead. Warden stamina was no myth, she’d discovered, and another round just then might kill her.  
  
With a touch as gentle as a spring breeze, Nathaniel stroked her hair into some semblance of order, and the slow, sensuous petting was lulling her quickly into peaceful sleep. Then, just as she began to slip into the embrace of the Fade, his teeth nipped at the shell of her ear, making her yelp.  
  
“If you have any further dreams tonight, dear Marian,” he said, with amusement clear in his tone. The flick of his tongue against her lobe turned her spine to water. “Or any other night, please, do share. I find myself… rather eager to be at the mercy of your imagination again.”  
  
It was meant playfully, for the moment, but it was also an invitation. Marian bit her lip, pondering.  
  
“Shall I consider you to be at my disposal, Messere Howe?” He shuddered against her, pressing a firm kiss just behind her jaw, and amusement was swiftly replaced with fervent promise.  
  
“Utterly, my lady.”

* * *

Nathaniel knew she was up to something, shooting her suspicious-yet-fond glances out of the corner of his eye, but he seemed willing to play along. Being indulged in her attempts at secrecy simply made it more difficult to stifle a mischievous smile, but if asked, Hawke would have blamed her flush on the warmth of the day.  
  
The Hightown market was busy— the storm clouds brewing farther out past the harbour had apparently been enough to encourage the upper classes (or at least their servants) to enjoy the bright sunlight while it lasted. The breeze was crisp with the promise of rain, but until the clouds blew in, it was a lovely afternoon. Perfect for a stroll with pleasurable company, or so she’d told Nathaniel.  
  
She was making a show of browsing some random stalls, trying to decide the best way to put her plan into motion, when Nathaniel’s breath against her ear made her freeze. He didn’t stand far from her, regardless, usually keeping her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, but at that precise moment, Hawke swore she could feel the heat of his body crowding close against her side, even through his leathers.  
  
“One more coy smirk,” he murmured very quietly, and the rough pitch of his words set shivers through her. “And I will be forced to either take you home, or take you right here.”  
  
The blush that burned across her cheeks felt like it swept all the way down to her toes, and she very nearly abandoned her plans in favour of dragging this wicked man all the way back to the estate. Apparently, his indulgence only extended so far before he began to fight back.  
  
No, this plan would be worth it. Shifting against the tension now coiling between her legs, Hawke offered a very soft, affectionate glance from under her lashes, pleased when Nathaniel’s lips parted at the sight, his cheeks going faintly pink. It was frighteningly easy to behave adoringly towards this man, and it certainly didn’t help that he was so damned adorable about it.  
  
It seemed like foolishness for a grown, capable woman to become a giggling maid about a man, but by Andraste’s holy knickers, what he could do to her.  
  
“I’ve one more thing to pick up,” she said, smiling when Nathaniel blinked in mild confusion. He’d been distracted, it seemed, but she could certainly relate. All it took was one smouldering grey stare and she was tripping over her own feet. “Just over here, at the tailor's…”  
  
She had nearly melted in her slippers that morning, upon finding a reply to her hastily sent note of inquiry waiting among the post. If she didn’t think Nathaniel would be rather put out about it, she would have _kissed_ Jean Luc.  
  
Bypassing the small stall one of the tailor’s assistants manned in the market square, Hawke led the way into the more established commercial streets of Hightown. Stalls were all well and good for hawking wares, and the best spots at market were priceless to maintain good business, but most merchants had a larger, permanent location as well. Jean Luc’s was a bright, cosy little shop, full to bursting with beautiful robes and other garments in a rainbow of colours.  
  
“Ah, good day to you, Champion!” Abandoning his inspection of a roll of vividly red silk when he saw her enter, shooing his assistant off to deal with another customer, the unfailing pleasant Orlesian greeted her with courtly bow. Compared to many of the other merchants in Hightown, patronizing this shop was always a lovely experience, especially when compared to dealing with Hubert. “If I may, _madame_ , you are a vision in the pale rose, as I thought. Exquisite, truly.”  
  
Beside her, Nathaniel tilted his head, with the vaguest hint of a soft smile gracing his lips. “You’ll find no argument here, serah.”  
  
Jean Luc favoured Nathaniel with a curious once-over, taking in their linked arms with a pleased sigh.

Plucking at the skirts of her airy robes— a purchase she’d made perhaps a month before, in preparation for the heat of summer— Hawke rolled her eyes light-heartedly, amused and just a tad nervous. “I happily defer to your advice, Jean Luc, as always. I suppose it would hardly do for the Champion of Kirkwall to blunder about in a potato sack.”  
  
Pressing a hand to his forehead, Jean Luc made a small, strangled sound. “Ah, Maker have mercy; the very thought terrifies. _Alors_ , I have the ribbon you requested, _madame_ , just here.” Turning sharply, the man snapped his fingers and chattered something to his assistant in Orlesian. The young woman didn’t look up from the half-finished robes she was pinning, reaching blindly with one hand to grab a paper-wrapped packet from a nearby shelf, and holding it out for Jean Luc to take.  
  
“Ribbon,” Nathaniel said very quietly, the word laced with question, and Hawke knew she couldn’t look at him without turning the exact crimson of the silk Jean Luc had been examining on their arrival.  
  
“Ribbon,” she repeated instead, possibly breathier than she’d planned, but before any more could be said (or not said) Jean Luc was stepping back towards them, unwrapping the brown paper with practiced ease.  
  
“It is new stock, just arrived from Val Royeaux. There is no softer, plusher velvet anywhere in Thedas, I assure you.” The thick roll of ribbon, three fingers wide and bigger than a man’s fist, was beautiful sapphire blue. If Jean Luc noticed Nathaniel’s surprised inhalation, he was good enough not to mention it.  
  
She knew logically that it was probably only her paranoia that had Hawke convinced every single person in Kirkwall would assume she was buying a skein of ribbon for nefarious, kinky purposes. She’d been spending too much time with Isabela, clearly, for whom just about everything was either an excuse for innuendo, and/or a possible sex prop.  
  
There was no reason to become flustered, but then Jean Luc asked how much she wanted cut, and she found it impossible to answer without her cheeks heating. “I’ll take the entire roll, serah, if that’s all right.”  
  
Damn her fair skin and damn her blush. Damn Nathaniel too, for clearing his throat and staring off at the ceiling in the most suspicious way possible. Faced with all that, it was no wonder Jean Luc stared for a moment, bemused, before breaking out into a sly grin.  
  
“Oh, I see. The entire roll then,” he said, almost impishly, and Hawke thought perhaps the ground opening and swallowing her whole might be a nice change of pace.

* * *

He managed to wait until they were back on the street, just far enough from the tailor’s shop windows to prevent an audience, before herding a silent, almost sheepish Marian down into an alley. She was still blushing, sweet and pink from her hairline down, and he yearned to press his mouth to her neck, following the path of that tempting flush lower, past the dipping collar of her robes.  
  
“You do look exquisite in rose,” he said instead, daring to reach up and brush his knuckles over her heated cheek. Bracing his other hand on the wall behind her head, Nathaniel leaned close, trusting the shadows of the alley and a stack of crates to hide them from any prying eyes on the street. “Though at the moment, I admit I cannot stop imagining you in naught but blue velvet…”  
  
Her eyes were hooded, glittering brightly under her dark lashes, and Nathaniel was forced to give the bridle of his self-control a firm yank when she reached out with long, slender fingers to grip his baldric.  
  
“Nathaniel,” she said softly, breathily, then smiled slyly when the sound of his name made him shiver. _Maddening woman._ “I wanted to tell you about another dream I had. Would you like to hear it now, or shall I wait until we get home?”  
  
Waiting would be best, the only sensible option, and he knew that. Maker’s breath, he knew that.  
  
Sparing one fleeting glance towards the mouth of the alley, Nathaniel stepped closer, revelling in the faint smell of lavender and lyrium. “I am your rapt audience, my dear lady. Eager and enthralled.”  
  
This was foolishness, _insanity_ — they were in the heart of Hightown Kirkwall in the middle of the afternoon, for Andraste’s sake— but then Marian’s lips parted in surprise at his bold answer, and Nathaniel was lost.  
  
He managed, barely, to move at a gentlemanly pace, allowing her plenty of time to turn away should his attentions be unwelcome. Instead, he found her tilting her head up into the kiss he was seeking, moaning quietly into his mouth as she arched against his body.  
  
It was brief and gentle, because anything else would bring him wholly beyond the limits of his tether. The roll of ribbon, tucked securely into a fancy cloth bag and hanging from Marian’s wrist, knocked mockingly against his thigh. The _ribbon_ —  
  
He broke the kiss, panting like a mabari in an Antivan summer. This was… inappropriate.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, pulling away, though the apology didn’t feel entirely his to make; Marian could be an infernal, magnificent tease when she put her mind to it. At the moment, for instance, her fingers were creeping up from his baldric, tracing cool paths along the skin at his throat.  
  
Then she began speaking again, and _tease_ seemed like a colossal understatement.  
  
“I dreamed,” she said, leaning forward to brush her nose gently along the line of his jaw, torturing him with feather-light touches. Her voice was warm, quiet, and curled around him like the ghost of her fingers, raising gooseflesh. “Of being tied. Bound in nothing but ribbon, naked and vulnerable, and laid out at your mercy. Awaiting your pleasure—”  
  
The pounding of blood in his ears was deafening, which was quite a feat, considering how much of that blood was currently occupied elsewhere. His smalls and leggings were achingly tight, his skin felt tacky all over, and _this woman was going to drive him mad._  
  
“ _Stop._ ” Inhaling slowly through his nose, Nathaniel pressed a firm, chaste kiss against her forehead. “Maker grant me strength, you wicked vixen.”  
  
“You _asked_ , my Warden. Eager and enthralled.” Scraping her nails lightly down his neck, Marian ducked under the arm he still had braced against the wall, and offered a coy smirk over one shoulder as she sauntered slowly back towards the street. The lecherous beast scrabbling in the back of his mind made one final bid for freedom, clawing at his self-control with jaws slavering, and Nathaniel reached out before his lady had taken more than three steps, catching her smartly about the waist.

Gently muffling her yelp of surprise with one hand, he pulled her close, sinking deeper into the camouflage provided by the crates as he brought her flush against him, back to chest. The soft twist of her hair, bound up elegantly in a blasted velvet ribbon, brushed his cheek as he bent to whisper against her ear.  
  
“Bound and vulnerable, awaiting my pleasure.” He repeated her words slowly, spreading his fingers wide as he splayed his other hand over her stomach, drinking in the tremble his voice could draw from her body. She could incapacitate him with a single thought, but rather than struggle at all, she seemed to melt back against him, cooing sweet, ardent noises into his palm.  
  
“You wish to be at my mercy, my lady? Given such power, such control of your body—” Abandoning civility, Nathaniel allowed his hand to inch downward over the gentle curve of her belly, creeping towards the hot, welcoming centre that waited between her thighs. “Do you imagine I would be a merciful man?”  
  
At the touch of his tongue against her ear and his fingers teasing brazenly through her robes, Marian’s hips canted back, grinding her backside into the hardness he knew she could feel, even through his unforgiving leggings. He could certainly feel it, throbbing, stealing all rational thought from his head.  
  
“Oh Maker,” she gasped, pulling his hand from her face and craning her neck around for a kiss, deep and desperate, with even a hint of teeth clicking. She was rocking steadily now, into his hand and back against his hips, in that rhythm he had been reverently committing to memory since he’d first arrived in Kirkwall. His cock remembered that rhythm with particular fondness.  
  
By the Void, this was actually happening. At that moment, in a shadowed alley in the middle of Kirkwall’s merchant district, Nathaniel was mere moments away from rucking up this gorgeous woman’s skirts and sinking into her heat. And, incredibly, she seemed to be _encouraging_ him.  
  
The taint in his blood no longer stood a chance; Marian Hawke was going to be the death of him.  
  
She broke the kiss to suck his fingers, every flutter of her tongue making his hips jerk, and he retaliated by assaulting her neck with lips and teeth, paying special homage to those spots he knew would weaken her knees. He heard but didn’t notice the first roll of thunder, enthralled by every sigh and moan, and _blessed Andraste_ , suddenly Marian was reaching down, yanking her own robes up and guiding his hand beneath, toward the soft, scalding bliss hidden under her smalls.  
  
“Nathaniel—” Her voice hitched as he slid his fingertips past the scrap of linen, finding her already sopping. He muffled his answering groan against her throat. “Oh please, darling, I’m so wet for you—”  
  
It was as if she’d uttered a spell, rather than a carnal plea. All at once, the heavens opened; one fat drop of rain splashed cold and shocking against the crown of his head, barely an instant before the downpour began in earnest. Marian squealed, not a sound of delight but of outrage, scrambling to turn in his arms even as she called up a shimmering shield of energy around them, blocking the pelting rain.  
  
“Shit,” she cursed, clinging close as she hugged his neck. They were both uncomfortably drenched, even from just those few panicked moments of disorder, and the rain was beating hard and loud against the magical barrier. It was noisy enough to make raised voices almost necessary, even pressed close together. “Oh Maker, only my luck. That bloody rain is _cold_.”  
  
Shocked out of the intense grip of lust, but still hard, Nathaniel made no attempt to stifle his chuckles, wrapping his arms around her back as she began to shake with laughter. Another ominous peal of thunder seemed to warn that this was no brief, fluke shower, which was hardly surprising given the dark clouds that had been brewing out to sea for most of the day.

“It’s not funny,” she said, which wasn’t particularly convincing between giggles; far too soon, however, the amusement turned sour, twisting her smile into a grimace. Before he could suss out the reason for the abrupt shift in mood, Marian heaved a sigh. “Ugh, I can’t keep the barrier up while we leg it back home— all I need is for Meredith to hear I’ve been casting willy-nilly around Hightown. Even the blighted Champion of Kirkwall must mind the toes she steps on.”  
  
Knight-Commander Meredith… stories of her growing brutality had spread through the Free Marches, though as long as her boot heel was kept firmly on mages, the rumours had a tendency to diminish the seriousness of the situation. Having seen Kirkwall with his own eyes, feeling the tension boiling just under the surface, Nathaniel was inclined to favour a less sympathetic opinion of the flinty templar. He would be the first to admit a bias— he had served with mage Wardens for years, few though they were among the ranks of the Grey, to say nothing of the fact that his lover was an open apostate. Regardless, it was difficult to imagine how anyone could look upon the madness quickly overtaking Kirkwall, and still maintain that the city’s Circle was a stable, even-handed place. The delicate balance of calm was going to give way, very soon if his instincts were any judge, and he simply prayed Marian would not be caught in the centre of that storm.  
  
And now his mood was effectively soured as well. _Blast._ “I didn’t think to bring a cloak,” he said, brushing loose strands of damp hair away from her forehead. “We could wait and see if it eases, but I imagine that might be some time.”  
  
“Ah, it’s just a bit of rain.” Shrugging slightly, she glanced up, offering him a small, crooked smile. “We won’t melt, will we? And on the bright side, this gives me an excuse to get out of these wet clothes the moment we get home.”  
  
“That is an excellent point.” Adjusted a bit, his cuirass would hide the worst of his… eagerness, but Marian obviously had no intention of going easy on him. “At your leisure, then.”  
  
“Right, on three.” Silently cursing the lack of foresight that meant his oiled cloak was hanging from a hook in Marian’s foyer, Nathaniel braced himself for the blast of chilly rain. “One… two… three—”  
  
He managed to swallow his gasp, which was purely a matter of masculine pride. For an instant, it felt as though he’d gone deaf; the patter of rain against the flagstone was far quieter than the cacophony it had created pinging off Marian’s magical shield. It was the sudden shock of cold water pelting against his head that kept his attention, however, creeping through his hair and down his neck.  
  
“Come on—” Marian was stepping back, tugging his arms, and Nathaniel followed automatically. “Maker, that’s cold.”  
  
“You’ve been away from Ferelden too long,” he said playfully, taking her hand as they sprinted out of the meagre protection the alley provided, and straight into the storm. “South of the Coastlands, this is a summer shower.”  
  
“Hey now, I’m a dog lord born and bred! Ask any Kirkwaller!” Her laughter rang out, bell-like in the beating rain, even as her foot slipped, and she was only saved from a tumble by his quick reflexes, free arm darting out to catch her around the back. They were chest-to-chest again, all but drowning in the middle of a deserted square, and Marian grinned up at him broadly, water beading in lashes and slicking curls of inky hair around her face.

“My hero,” she murmured, barely audible over the rain, and then he was being kissed fiercely, her fingers tangling in the sopping mess of his own hair. He could taste clean water and _Marian_ , lost in the moist furnace of her mouth, scorching compared to the cool press of her lips against his, and even with the chill seeping through his leathers, he might have been content to stand there for ages, drinking her in.  
  
Lightning flashed, bright even through his closed eyes, followed almost immediately by a booming roll of thunder; foolishly romantic began to lean sharply towards simply foolish.  
  
“Almost home,” he said, reluctantly pulling away, and did not miss the sparkle that lit her eyes. The idea that she was even half as eager as he to explore the many uses of that ribbon made his cock twitch. “More carefully this time, hm?”

* * *

Orana was beside herself when they tumbled into the estate, wringing her hands at the puddles they brought with them, and the sodden state of her mistress’ clothes. Marian did her best to soothe the girl, while at the same time trying to keep them moving inward and holding up the dripping hem of her robes, while Hafter wriggled and huffed around their feet.  
  
Despite the fussing elf, excited mabari, and the two dwarves scurrying in to check on the ruckus, Nathaniel found himself exceedingly distracted by the way wet, pale rose silk clung to generous, feminine curves, nearly translucent in places.  
  
“I’ll go change right now, Orana,” Marian was saying, reaching out to cup the girl by one shoulder. “Don’t fret. I swear, I’ll stoke the fire myself, and neither Messere Nathaniel nor I will catch cold, all right?”  
  
“Would you like tea, mistress?” Orana’s eyes were wide and liquid, almost pleading. “Or soup? I could make soup—”  
  
Smiling in surrender, Marian nodded, patting her shoulder again and stepping back to take Nathaniel’s hand. “Tea would be grand, thank you. As for the soup, maybe in a few hours. Nathaniel and I would like to rest for a bit.”  
  
_Rest for a bit_. Her fingers squeezed around his, and Maker have _mercy_ , he could see just a suggestion of her nipples through her robes, hardened and peaked. It took an incredible feat of willpower to tear his gaze away.  
  
There may have been more said, but he was rather oblivious to the rest of the conversation. He noticed when Marian tugged his hand, leading him upstairs, and the squelch of his boots against the fine floors made him wince, just a bit, but his lady wasn’t objecting.  
  
He managed, barely, to keep himself in check even after the bedroom door clicked shut behind them. There had been something mentioned about tea, which didn’t sound like a terrible idea, though the timing certainly could have been better. When Marian stepped close, crowding him against the door, Nathaniel squeezed his eyes tightly closed and prayed for strength.  
  
“Don’t,” he said tightly. “A moment, please. I assume you’ve no desire to traumatise your serving girl.”  
  
“Blighted tea,” Marian groused; he felt her step away, and stopped himself from reaching out to draw her back. “If we’ve not changed into something dry by the time she gets here, she’ll never forgive me. Leathers off, Warden.”  
  
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Nathaniel opened his eyes and began tugging at the buckles of his armour, fighting against the tackiness of wet hide. A few feet away, Marian was leaning over the smouldering fireplace, shooting jets of flame from her fingertips to aid the slow-burning wood. After a moment or two to squirm out of his bracers and cuirass, Nathaniel set it aside and padded over to add a pair of large sticks from the log rack. With a few more blasts of spellpower, their fire was crackling nicely.  
  
His jerkin came off next, peeling free damply; the shirt he wore beneath was largely untouched by rain, though still a bit tacky. Until Orana had come and gone, it would be comfortable enough.  
  
Marian was a different case entirely, lacking the benefit of armour meant to protect from injury, but also to a lesser extent, from the elements. Her robes peeled off in layers, crumpling into heavy heaps of soaked silk and revealing damp skin beneath, which pebbled to gooseflesh the moment it was exposed to the air. His palms itched to warm her up.

Hawke shivered again, feeling Nathaniel’s gaze trail over her with all the weight of a caress, raising gooseflesh down her arms. She was itching for his touch, aching for him after that incredible moment in the alley, and if the tempting bulge straining his leggings was any indication, Nathaniel was similarly affected.  
  
It was utterly depraved how feisty that made her feel, to know they’d nearly let go and fucked in the middle of Hightown, propriety be damned. Moving on from the Red Iron, out of Lowtown and into respectability… she’d nearly forgotten the thrill of simply _doing_ , without hemming and hawing for hours (if not days, or _months_ ) about the consequences first. Everything else felt so heavy, so precarious— for all the baggage that Nathaniel brought with him, of which Hawke knew she’d barely scratched the surface, being with him was joyful. After everything else… it felt strange to be so happy.  
  
Undoing her wet breast band, then shimmying out of her smalls, Hawke dared a brief glance over at the entirely silent man who was leaning beside the fireplace. A curl of something hot and eager twisted between her legs at the sight of his throat working, bobbing with a hard swallow as his eyes followed the naked line of her spine, all the way down to her rear as she bent to slide her smalls past her knees.  
  
She needed to thrown on some clothes, immediately; it was far too tempting to simply lock the door and pounce, but Orana would be in a tizzy.  
  
Snatching up one of her nightdresses from the wardrobe, Hawke pulled the soft cotton over her head, picking tangles of wet hair from under the collar. Calling up a mischievous smile, she glanced back over her shoulder, letting her own eyes wander appreciatively.  
  
“If you really don’t want to give Orana something to swoon over,” she said, shaking Nathaniel from what looked like a bit of a daze. “Then you might consider untucking your shirt. Those leggings look… rather strained.”  
  
Grey eyes narrowed, and Nathaniel looked about ready to retort, when Orana’s light rapping signalled the young woman’s arrival. With haste that banished his usual dexterity, Nathaniel scrambled to yank his shirttails out of his waistband.  
  
“Come, Orana,” Hawke called, then pressed her hand against her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her giggles. A somewhat embarrassed, increasingly sexually frustrated, usually stoic Warden made quite the sight.  
  
Orana puttered inside with a heaping tray, and Hawke wondered idly just how many armies she’d invited round for tea. Biting her tongue on that quip— the girl was sweet and thoughtful, really, though sometime just a bit too much— Hawke all but gushed her thanks as Orana set the tray on her desk, then proceeded to herd the elf back out with as much polite insistence as she could manage.  
  
After assurances that no, they would not be needing any extra blankets or a bath drawn, Hawke finally managed to get the door closed, turning the latch with a long, relieved exhale. The wood was cool against her forehead as she leaned briefly against the door, but she didn’t have long to wait before her back was warm, Nathaniel’s presence crowding up behind her.  
  
“Which would you prefer first,” he murmured, sliding one broad hand over her belly and nuzzling against the nape of her neck, making her shiver. “Tea, or me?”  
  
Turning slowly until her shoulders rested against the door and Nathaniel stared down into her face, expression hungry, Hawke reached out to play with the collar of his shirt. One of his hands was braced over her head, while the other crept around to the small of her back.  
  
She hummed, as if considering. “Well, the tea _is_ hot and ready—” Without warning, the hand on her back yanked her close, lifting her onto her toes and pressing her hard against Nathaniel’s hips. It was more than enough to make her groan, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and clinging for dear life. “ _Oh_ , but so are you…”

Taking advantage of the leverage her position and her willingness afforded him, Nathaniel hoisted her thighs up and outward, and Marian felt a sharp jolt of _want_ surge through her when she found herself lifted completely off her feet. His hands, rough but nimble, stroked under the hem of her nightdress, and suddenly she was caught in a deep, insistent kiss that stole her breath and sent her hips rolling against his.  
  
The loss of the door against her back was a minor detail when compared to the feel of a thick erection pressing between her legs, with only Nathaniel’s trousers and her thin nightdress as a damnable barrier separating them. The feel of the mattress was slightly more worthy of notice, considering she was being pressed against it under Nathaniel’s determined weight. He grabbed hold of both her wrists and pinned them over her head, holding her in place with one hand, then rucked up her nightdress without preamble, callused fingers sliding along her aching slit.  
  
The feeling was enough to make her break away from Nathaniel’s mouth, gasping and hiccupping small, needy sounds. He was teasing, gliding through the moisture that was already soaking her curls, then dipping in just enough to send her quivering for _more, harder, now._ She was beyond ready, just as wanton and greedy for his touch as she’d been in that blighted alley, and Nathaniel knew it too, if his dark chuckle against her throat was any indication.  
  
“Now where were we,” he murmured, kissing wetly up to her ear as his thumb rolled slow, excruciating circles around her pearl. “If I recall, something was said about binding. I wonder, already so eager, how you would like to play. Shall I lash your hands and feet to the bedposts, and have you stretched so wide for me? So open?”  
  
“Please—” Her voice was reedy, desperate, and only grew more frantic as his fingers mimicked his words, spreading her soft lips wider and feathering impossibly light touches over her sensitive folds. Her heels dug hard into the bed, but his weight prevented her from thrusting up as she wanted, seeking fullness, and she cursed between her teeth.  
  
“Or,” Nathaniel continued, usually gravelly voice gone even huskier as he rumbled against her ear, but he was still so tightly controlled. Without the strength of his iron will to lean upon, Marian knew she would never dare let herself go so completely, and the sense of freedom was a heady, thrilling thing. “Shall I string you up by your wrists, and have you balance so gracefully on your toes as I taste your sex for ages, until you’re shaking and sobbing with nothing but my name on your lips?”  
  
His tongue curled around her earlobe, the very same moment two long fingers slid smoothly into her depths, crooking just so before halting there, hilted and unmoving. Marian could see sparks dancing around the edges of her vision, and there was a buzzing under her skin that warned of a climax approaching, building with all the force of a rushing wave. Her fingers clenched, crunching with the lightest sheen of frost she’d called up unconsciously, and she squirmed as the soft cotton folds of her nightdress shifted across her pebbled nipples.  
  
“Bound, vulnerable, and at my mercy…” Nathaniel pumped his fingers leisurely, once, twice, and Marian felt her hips jerking feebly, as much as she was allowed. “ _Mine_. Sit up for me, and fold your arms behind your back. Behave, and I will let you come.”  
  
When Nathaniel pulled away, taking both his hands with him, Marian was almost too far gone to make sense of the instructions. _Behave, and I will let you come_ was enough incentive to fight the haze engulfing her mind, however, and she scrambled up to do as he asked the moment he rocked back to kneel on the mattress, watching her.  
  
She’d tossed the bag of ribbon onto the bed when they’d first gotten to the bedroom, and now Nathaniel was reaching for it, loosening the draw string and bringing out the large roll of velvet with such a devilish glint darkening his stormy eyes. Clutching her hands tightly behind her back in an attempt to keep from reaching out for him, Marian shifted, thighs rubbing together in a bid for even a hint of friction.

“Stop that,” he growled, blessedly pulling his shirt over his head, and Marian froze, biting her lip. His chest and shoulders were things of beauty, sculpted hard and powerful from years drawing heavy bows, and her fingers itched to comb through the wiry black hair that dusted over his fair skin, growing thicker as it trailed down his stomach. “Take that nightdress off, Marian. Let me see you.”  
  
Slowing her breathing now that his hands weren’t playing her so expertly, Hawke let her mouth curl into a small smile as her hands crept down to grab the nightdress’ hem, inching it up over her thighs. Reaching back to pull off his boots, but never taking his eyes from her, Nathaniel had a dangerously pleased smirk to offer in return.  
  
“How will such coyness be rewarded, I wonder, when I have you tied?”  
  
_Shit._  
  
There may have been a small ripping sound as Hawke yanked the shift off in one quick motion, but it was lost under the smooth roll of Nathaniel’s laughter. He had his boot knife in hand, slowly unwinding a length of ribbon, and Marian swallowed thickly over the dryness in her mouth.  
  
“How do you want me?” she asked softly, throwing the nightdress heedlessly onto the floor. When Nathaniel sliced his knife through blue velvet, cutting a long piece, she shivered.  
  
“I am hard-pressed to think of a way I don’t want you,” Nathaniel said, with a depth of emotion simmering under his words that nearly sent her falling into his arms immediately, all games be damned. Nearly. Instead, she tested her resolve by leaning forward, catching his lips sweetly with her own for just a moment.  
  
Breaking away, she lingered close, pressing another kiss against his cheek and earning herself a tender look that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I know just what you mean, love.”  
  
“You’re doing a fine job of distracting me, as well.” Nathaniel set the knife carefully out of the way. “Turn your back to me and give me your arms.”  
  
He positioned her gently, crossing her arms behind her back until her hands gripped herself above opposite elbows, dropping kisses and nips along her neck the entire time. Then eventually he drew back, and Marian realised she couldn’t move her arms at all. She’d hardly been aware of the actual binding, but the knots held fast even if she tugged firmly. The velvet tied her forearms together, then followed the lines of her body almost like a breast band, coming from between her shoulder blades to loop around her upper arms, then wrap around her chest twice, once above and once below her breasts. Without her hands free for complex casting, even her magic would be limited like this.  
  
It felt strange, with her chest puffed out on display and her top-half useless, but then Nathaniel’s arms wrapped around her waist, banishing the sudden, daft feeling that she might topple over.  
  
“Is that all right? Comfortable?” The questions had more than one layer of meaning, but regardless, the answer was the same.  
  
“Yes, it’s perfect.” He nuzzled her neck, reaching up to untie the ribbon still holding her damp hair in place. It fell in thick, heavy locks over her shoulders, and his fingers combed slowly through it, making her scalp tingle.  
  
“If it becomes uncomfortable, even slightly, promise you’ll tell me.”  
  
“I promise.” Leaning her head back to loll on his shoulder, Marian scooted back until her bottom nestled against Nathaniel’s groin, finding an erection there still trapped in leggings. He hissed against her skin, his embrace tightening. “Now please make me come, darling, _please…_ ”  
  
“Soon.” If she concentrated, she could feel the hard thudding of his heartbeat. “I’m going to bind your legs first.”  
  
Strong hands moved her where he wanted her, rolled over to lie flat on her back. Her arms, though trapped under her weight, were still comfortable. Nathaniel took hold of one of her ankles, pushing it forward until it bumped against her ass, bending her leg completely in two.  
  
“Hold that there,” he said, then proceeded to tie her ankle securely to her thigh, moving with incredibly deftness.

“You’ve done this before.” She wasn’t jealous, but she was curious and intensely turned on. Moving on to give her other leg similar treatment, Nathaniel chuckled quietly.  
  
“A few times, yes. But not for quite a while, and never with velvet.” With both her ankles bound, Marian felt entirely exposed… very, very vulnerable. It was already more intense than she’d thought it would be, enough to make her wriggle, testing the bonds and fighting to control the strange prickling under her skin. Kneeling between her bent legs, Nathaniel stroked soothing palms over her naked thighs, leaning in to kiss the centre of her sternum, just above the highest strap of ribbon.  
  
“Also, never with anyone quite this exquisite.” He was looming, free to do as he pleased, and Marian couldn’t stop the hiccup of nervous breath from bubbling up, sounding partway between a giggle and a sob. The moment the noise left her lips Nathaniel froze, glancing up with clear concern. She tried, Maker knew she _tried_ to calm herself, but the helplessness and the unabated arousal simmering through her was making it difficult to think.  
  
“But _you’ve_ never done this before.” It wasn’t a question, but Marian shook her head anyway, not quite trusting that her voice wouldn’t come out as a squeak. Nathaniel’s hands on her thighs felt like an anchor, and she was incredibly relieved when he didn’t pull back completely, just hovered there, frowning. “Marian…”  
  
“I know, I should have told you.” It wasn’t a squeak, but there was a definite quaver in her words. “I just… I’ve wanted to. I’ve dreamed of this, but I’ve never been with anyone I trusted enough to try.”  
  
Slowly, watching her face very carefully, Nathaniel leaned up to press a gentle, almost chaste kiss against her lips. His smile was one of the tenderest expressions she’d ever seen. “I’m truly honoured, more than I have the words to say.”  
  
“I still want to,” she said, squeezing her legs around his hips and feeling a nervy thrill at her limited movement. “Please, Nathaniel, I’m fine. I promise, I’ll tell you the moment something’s not right.”  
  
“All right.” Shifting his hands to her waist, Nathaniel lifted her up and slid her body up to the headboard, shifting pillows to cushion her back. She was sitting now, flexing her fingers, and all but vibrating with nervous energy. His palms on her knees eased her legs open again, and though he’d seen her in much more compromising positions, her heart thudded again. This felt… wicked.  
  
When he slid down to rest on his belly, tongue flickering out to tease her navel, Marian nearly shrieked. “But before we go any farther,” he said, licking his lips very deliberately. “I believe you’ve earned something.”

* * *

_I’ve never been with anyone I trusted enough._  
  
She trusted him enough. She _trusted_ him.  
  
Determined in his task to make this incredible woman all-but insensible with pleasure, Nathaniel lowered his head and set to work, curling his tongue around her pearl without preamble. His hands on her thighs kept her steady as she bucked into the sensation, unable to direct him with legs hooked over his shoulders or hands tangled in his hair, but this was a path he’d travelled numerous times in the past week.  
  
He was also a quick study.  
  
With confidence that his knots would hold without tightening, no matter how much his lady struggled, Nathaniel eased one hand down to stroke her lips apart, pressing one finger inside. She was scorching hot, so very soft and still dripping wet, and he lapped his tongue steadily as she squirmed and whined. Later, once his heart stopped aching as though fit to burst, he might draw out his teasing until he had her begging, but not this time. This time, he wanted to see her tumble over her peak, free and wild. To fall to pieces just so he could gather her up and start all over again.  
  
He fucked her with two fingers, gradually speeding as her moaning grew more desperate and her hips began to jerk and roll against his face. He licked her pearl, sucking it between his lips and even scraping it ever so gently with his teeth, making her _wail_. When she clamped and rippled around him, gasping his name like a prayer, he didn’t let up for a moment, wriggling his tongue down to thrust beside his fingers and frigging her hard with his nose. The binding left her enough freedom to squeeze her thighs against the side of his head, muffling her increasingly desperate cries, but Nathaniel kept pushing, wringing pleasure from her until he’d nearly suffocated.  
  
When he finally pulled back, inhaling a deep, burning breath even through the lingering smell of her, Marian slumped nearly boneless, curling almost protectively around her sex as she gasped for her own air. Pulling her unresisting body farther down onto the mattress and rolling her onto her side, Nathaniel curled around her back, ignoring the furious throbbing of his cock.  
  
Wiping most of the wetness from his chin, he nuzzled softly against her neck, feeling a kernel of tension ease in his chest as she snuggled back against him. “Was that worth the wait, my Marian?”  
  
“Maker,” she panted, which wasn’t quite as nice as the sound of his name, but still rather flattering. “You… you are a beast of a man.”  
  
“A beast?” He snarled with mock affront, nipping at the shell of her ear. She sounded sated but playful, banishing some of her earlier anxiety. “That was me being _kind_ , sweet lady. Shall I show you bestial?”  
  
Craning her neck around, Marian smirked at him, sapphire eyes glittering wide and liquid in her flushed face. “Do your worst.”  
  
Nathaniel did not ruin his mood by dwelling on exactly how lucky she was that he recognised her blustering as just that— he would die before allowing this woman to suffer his worst. Instead, he pushed one hand between the mattress and her hip, hoisting her over easily to rest on her knees. Without arms to brace herself upon, her surprised squeal was muffled against the quilts.  
  
He knew she could lift herself up without trouble if she chose, and took a moment to admire the deep bend of her back and the round, full swell of her rear. When she wiggled around to look at him, biting her lip and shifting her legs even wider, laid out like a willing, glorious sacrifice, Nathaniel could not strip his leggings off quickly enough.

Marian did make a gorgeous sight, balanced up on her knees with her bottom in the air, but tucking a supportive pillow under her hips didn’t ruin the image in the slightest. Especially not when she sighed sweetly, arching back against him as he leaned over…  
  
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder and stroking one hand along her ribs, revelling in the feel of her soft skin dampened with a light sheen of sweat and the vestiges of the rain. The dark blue of the ribbon reminded him sharply of her eyes, even with her face turned away from him, and he was pleased to see the velvet wasn’t biting into her flesh, even after she’d strained for him.  
  
His teeth against her nape made her gasp, hips canting, _seeking_ ; his palm cupping her wet sex, fingertips just brushing her pearl, made her moan and writhe.  
  
Nibbling up to her ear, Nathaniel slid one finger along the soft flesh that hooded her pearl, slowly circling the hard, sensitive nub. “At my pace, Marian. My pace, my desire, and my _mercy_ …”  
  
“Nathaniel—” There was no better sound he could think of than his name breathed out so desperately, and he tapped his finger with quick, staccato beats just to hear it again. “N- _Nathaniel!_ ”  
  
“Just like that.” Pressing his thumb slowly into her quim, he teased too shallow to satisfy, letting every cry for _more, faster, please_ wash over him like a caress. “Mm, I could feel you soaking my hand for hours as I played with your sweet, soft lips. Or—” Withdrawing his fingers made her whine, but the sound ended in a shriek as he brought his hand back sharply, the slap sounding all the louder from the juices slicking his palm. A single spank against the swell of her bottom, hard enough to sting, but no more. “Shall I warm you up before I take you? I could tan your arse until it’s hot and red as a cherry, then pound my hips against it. Shall I?”  
  
Dragging his fingertips along the faint pink mark he’d already made, making sure to scrape the roughness of his calluses along her skin, Nathaniel was relieved when Marian moaned long and breathy, rocking into the touch. He’d given her a few swats before, which had been well-received, but introducing spanking while she was tied was a different endeavour altogether.  
  
“Please,” she whispered, craning her neck around to look at him with wide eyes and wet, bitten lips, her cheek pressed into the quilts. “Anything, _please_.”  
  
“You make dangerous offers, my brave lady.” His smile was feral, and he was swiftly approaching the end of his own patience. There was bliss waiting inside her slick, gripping depths, and his cock knew it.  
  
Leaning forward, he caught her mouth in an awkward, messy kiss, even as his arm drew back for another light smack. Her squeal vibrated into his mouth, and he swallowed it down before pulling away to give himself more leverage. Another slap, harder but not yet _hard_ , then another and again, _again_ , reddening both cheeks to a bright, flaming glow— Marian squirmed, chirping and gasping into the bedspread with every strike, but not once did she ask him to stop or ease. It was… intoxicating, sending a deeply dangerous feeling seeping through his muscles, curling dark around his soul, and Nathaniel reined himself back hard.  
  
They would have to discuss this further, decide how far Marian thought herself willing to go. And they would have to choose a special word to snap him from this haze. Then, perhaps, he could allow himself more freedom.  
  
Rubbing his palm gently over Marian’s heated flesh, feeling her squirm into the contact, Nathaniel shifted on his knees, lining himself up behind her again.

“Stay still,” he murmured, leaning forward to lick the line of her spine, from her shoulder blades up to her nape. Her hair was still damp, and he pulled lingering, sticking strands away from her skin, out of his way. “Stay perfectly still, or I will leave you just like this.”  
  
Giving her no chance to answer or prepare herself, Nathaniel took his painfully hard cock in hand and slid the tip lightly along her slit, clenching his jaw at the sopping wetness and the _heat_. He watched her muscles tighten, her back arching that tiny bit more as she howled into the muffling down of the bedspread. For the moment, with his own need brewing fiercer than the storm that was still sending rain pelting hard against the windows, Nathaniel was satisfied with her attempt to follow his instruction.  
  
He had just enough control left to tease her once more, to inch inside her with agonisingly slow, shallow thrusts as she whimpered and clenched her hands, fingers curling against her bonds. Just enough for that, barely, but then eventually it was an age later, and he was hilted to the balls in her scorching, squeezing channel, and that was _enough_.  
  
“Now,” he said, kissing her shoulder gently as she trembled under him. Years of archery allowed him the strength and the stamina in his upper body to keep himself propped up on one arm while his other hand skated over her ribs, sliding around to explore the soft planes of her stomach. “Move with me, my Marian. Let me take all of you.”  
  
Even bound, she was a marvel, twisting back against every punishing thrust and making stars dance around the edges of his vision. Marian Hawke— a soft, beautiful, nubile woman, with enough power in her little finger to level a city. A devastating force of nature made flesh; _gorgeous_ flesh that welcomed both his adoration and his rougher edges, his darkness... and his love.  
  
Maker, he'd gone mad with her, the feel and the taste of her, mad with her scent and her voice and her touch...  
  
“Marian—” Her name was like a prayer, a plea for her mercy and her grace, and he breathed it across her skin as his hips snapped and he pounded into her. “Marian, yes, Marian—”  
  
And still she cried out for more, for more of him and more of _them_ , an impossible eternity that he ached to give her.  
  
It was nothing but movement and sound— the slap of skin against skin, a chorus of harsh pants and groans, the creak of the bed under them. Nathaniel poured everything he had into driving Marian to the precipice, then again, deeper and harder as she spasmed and cried out, until his own peak overtook him with all the power of a violent, stormy surf, dragging him under.

* * *

Marian felt the softness of the mattress cradling her side, snuggling into the feeling languidly. She flinched ever so slightly at the touch of cool steel against her skin, but then the feeling was gone, and her arms unfolded limply as the bonds that held them fell away. More than any of that, however, she felt the warm, callused touch of Nathaniel's hands guiding her sleepy movements, gently rubbing her flesh where the ribbon had held her, and then lower, where he'd spanked her to aching.  
  
She yawned, burrowing her face into the coverlet, and heard a low, rumbling laugh sound somewhere behind her. “Have I exhausted the famed Champion of Kirkwall?”  
  
“Hm, not by half.” His hand on her thigh kept her still for a moment, but after another deft flick of his dagger, her left leg was free. Confident she wasn't about to accidentally split open a vein, she rolled onto her back, arching her shoulders against the slight tightness in her joints, revelling in the feel of her abused bottom pressing against the quilts, and smiling up at Nathaniel's handsome face. “But you have pleased me, my fine Warden, so at least some of that smugness is deserved.”  
  
Lips quirking, he leaned over her, carefully slitting the last of the ribbon on her right leg even as he pressed a brief, tender kiss against her mouth. Then he pulled back, eyes flashing like polished silver coins and voice curling through her like smoke. “I serve at my lady's pleasure, in all things.”  
  
That was too good, too damned thick with promise, and Marian found herself inhaling sharply, thighs rubbing slickly together. Of course Nathaniel noticed, and his smirk widened in response.  
  
Stretching out, he set the dagger on the bedside table, giving Marian an unimpeded view of all the powerful, sinewed muscles that corded his chest and arms, under the fine dark hair and scattered scars. The broad expanse of him made her feel tiny in comparison, small and feminine, which was a lovely change from having to be larger than life every moment of the day.  
  
“Come here,” she said quietly, reaching for him, and he lowered himself into her arms without question. He brushed the dark mess of her hair over her shoulder, one big hand sliding over her back, and Marian wriggled closer until she could rest her cheek on his upper arm. They were still on top of the blankets, naked and messy from their lovemaking, but that didn't matter. “That was wonderful.”  
  
“It was.” Kissing her forehead, Nathaniel let his eyes close, sighing softly. “You are wonderful, Marian. An audacious minx, and wonderful.”  
  
“And just think,” she whispered, swallowing back the swell of affection such a simple compliment drew from her. It was not the time for soppy, and certainly not the time to spare even a moment's thought on how very much she would miss him when this furlough came to an end. “We've still all that ribbon left... perhaps I'll truss up a Warden for myself, next time.”  
  
The growl that rumbled up from his chest was louder than the occasional grumbling of thunder outside, and Marian shivered at the feel of it vibrating through her.  
  
“A... provocative thought,” he said after a moment, words rolling warm and rougher than usual. “But I doubt your ribbon could hold me. Some other restraints, however...”  
  
Provocative was a grievous understatement— the thought of having Nathaniel bound and begging was _scorchingly_ hot, and Marian wasn't about to let something as paltry as velvet stand in the way of making that image a reality in the near future. Maker's breath, if she didn't feel so perfectly exhausted at the moment, the simple fact that he'd agreed would have had her clambering onto his cock like she was being paid for it.

“I've got two wardrobe drawers full of nothing but belts,” she said quickly, glancing up to find him staring at her with smouldering, half-lidded eyes, like some great predatory cat. “Lots of thick leather. For future reference.”  
  
“For future reference,” he agreed with a nod, then settled back more comfortably against the mattress, his smirk returning as he gazed down at her. “A future, perhaps, waiting just after tea.”  
  
_The Champion of Kirkwall, fucked to death by a tall, dark, and gorgeous Warden. She was the happiest looking corpse the Free Marches have ever seen._  
  
Varric would have kittens if she forced him to end his already absurdly wild tale on that note.  
  
And oh Maker, it would be worth it.

END


End file.
